So Far Away
by Nighthawk5
Summary: 5 years after Mac left Washington DC....
1. Still Remember

* * * * * *  
  
Prologue: Part One  
  
* * * * * *  
  
This story, apart from the prologue and epilogue, is divided into two parts. The first: So Far Away is from Mac's POV. The second, WIP title Dealing, is from Harm's POV and will be posted some time in the very, very, very distant future at my current rate of production. It is possible that this will become a trilogy . telling you any more now would wreck the story. Everyone said this was confusing, with the first two chapters using songs, so I deleted and re-wrote parts of chapters 1&2 to make just one introductory chapter and put this little briefing part at the beginning. For all you people who didn't "get it", this should make it easier to understand. I also fixed up a few factual errors. The only problem I'm having now is time differences. Would someone please explain American time zones to me? They make no sense! (Sought of like American Defence Force ranks.. But I'll shut up before I start ranting.)  
  
* * * * * *  
  
It was so long ago now  
  
But I still lie awake at night  
  
Thinking about how I left  
  
On a one way flight  
  
And left you there  
  
But you didn't care  
  
I was invisible  
  
I was just a trend  
  
But that's Ok  
  
Cuz I was just your friend  
  
Just another girl  
  
In this big wide world  
  
And you were just another guy  
  
So why do I, why do I still cry?  
  
I lay there in the dark, Angela lying asleep in my arms. "My baby angel," I whispered, "She's beautiful Harm. She's beautiful." A tear slid down my cheek and once again I found myself apologising to a man 100 miles away. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you. Would you have even cared? Was I always going to be just another girl to you?" I murmured, "Have you forgotten me?"  
  
I still remember  
  
When I was on my own  
  
When I felt so alone  
  
You bought me home  
  
I still remember  
  
I still remember  
  
I still remember you  
  
It was so crazy back then  
  
But I still walk along that beach  
  
Thinking about those stars  
  
And you, so far out of reach  
  
I left you there  
  
But you didn't care  
  
I was transparent  
  
I was just a haze  
  
But that's Ok  
  
Cuz I was just a phase  
  
Just another jewel  
  
In your necklace of pearls  
  
And you were just another guy  
  
So why do I, why do I still cry?  
  
I'd cried myself to sleep for so many nights after I left. So many stupid tears. "Don't cry over someone who won't cry over you," I kept telling myself. I don't think he ever would've cried over me, but I've always been doubtful. I've always told myself he never loved me, that I was just a friend to him. But lately I've realised I never gave him the chance to tell me I was wrong. I just believed myself, because as long as he didn't love me like I loved him, I didn't have to be afraid of what I felt, and I was so afraid of what I felt.  
  
I still remember  
  
When I was shrinking  
  
When I felt like sinking  
  
You lifted me up  
  
I still remember  
  
I still remember  
  
I still remember you  
  
I walked out of your life  
  
You didn't see me go  
  
And now and now  
  
Now you'll never know  
  
That I cared (I did)  
  
I cared about you  
  
More than you knew  
  
I cared  
  
I cared about you  
  
It wouldn't mean a thing to you  
  
But I loved you  
  
I think I loved you  
  
Then you were gone  
  
I was crying then, lying there in the dark, sobbing and feeling stupid. I was the one that ran away, and I was the one who was most afraid of losing what we had. As long as I could blame it on someone else, I could pretend I was Ok, that I wasn't afraid or scared or remotely human. I've always been like that: justify all my feelings by making my problems someone else's fault. Sometimes I really hate myself for being such a hypocrite. I hate double standards and I especially hate my double standards.  
  
"I'm sorry," I repeated softly, "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough for you." I don't really want to believe that, but I guess a part of me thinks it's true. I tell myself not to blame myself, but I know it's my fault. I tell myself not to live with regrets, but I regret leaving so much it hurts. And I tell myself to let go, but I know I never will.  
  
I still remember  
  
When I was crying  
  
When I felt like dying  
  
You saved my life  
  
I still remember  
  
I still remember  
  
I still remember you  
  
You walked out of my life  
  
I didn't see you go  
  
And now and now  
  
Now you'll never know  
  
That I loved you  
  
Said I loved you  
  
And it might not mean a thing to you  
  
But I loved you  
  
You saved my life  
  
And baby I loved you  
  
I still remember how I loved you  
  
* * * * * * 


	2. Five Years Ago

* * * * * *  
  
Prologue: Part Two  
  
* * * * * *  
  
//Five Years Previously//  
  
"Don't look back Mackenzie," I whispered to myself.  
  
I had to keep walking. I knew if I turned around I'd run straight back to him and return to the life I lived everyday. I'd continue to wait, I'd hang around waiting, I'd get old and die waiting for him. My pathetic existence, my pitiable excuse for a life.  
  
I knew he was following me, I knew he knew I intended to leave.  
  
My heels clacked against the floor, echoing in the hallway.  
  
Clack, clack, clack.  
  
I pressed the button to open the doors of the elevator. They opened, I stepped inside and closed my eyes. I made it without looking back.  
  
That was when I started crying. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I waited for the elevator to arrive at the ground floor. With a sigh, I walked out and stopped, facing the doors of JAG.  
  
"The last time," I thought, "This'll be the last time."  
  
I stood watching the doors for a moment, thinking about that morning, yesterday morning and every weekday morning for the past 4 years... every morning, I'd walked through those doors. Every evening for the past 4 years, I walked through those doors. Twice a day for 4 years, 2080 times I'd walked through those times.  
  
Absorbed in thought, I screamed when he grabbed my arm.  
  
Damn him, I forgot about the stairs.  
  
"Sarah, look me in the eye and tell me the reason you're leaving is because you don't love me.. Cuz that would be easier to deal with than this," he said.  
  
Studying the ground intently, I mumbled an unintelligible response.  
  
"Why can't you look at me?" he asked me.  
  
I smiled and looked up, "Because I can't do that."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I don't like looking people in the eye and lying to them."  
  
"How would that be lying?"  
  
"Well, you've got it all wrong," I replied, staring at him sadly.  
  
"How so?" he countered, taking a step closer to me.  
  
I tilted my head further upward to meet his eye again.  
  
"Because I do love you," I stated flatly, "That's why I'm leaving, because I love you."  
  
"Don't go," he responded quietly, "Please Sarah, don't go."  
  
"Then give me a good reason to stay," I challenged.  
  
"Because," he pushed my hair off my face, "Because."  
  
We stood in the uncomfortable silence, eyeing each other. Unconsciously, I leant towards him. He mirrored the action. As our lips brushed together, I closed my eyes.  
  
"That's not a good enough reason," I murmured.  
  
He reached out and took my hand.  
  
"What would be Sarah?"  
  
I avoided his gaze, "I don't know."  
  
"Can I convince you?"  
  
"You can try," I whispered as he kissed me.  
  
I was still leaving in the morning.  
  
* * *  
  
//Two Hours Later//  
  
Sniffling quietly as I put on my shirt, I watched him sleeping next to me.  
  
Smearing the tears that persisted on falling across my cheek, I smiled sardonically.  
  
"You almost convinced me," I murmured nostalgically, "Almost."  
  
* * * * * * 


	3. Part One: An Incredibly, Unbelievably, I...

* * * * * *  
  
Part One  
  
* * * * * *  
  
When I woke up that morning, I had no idea it was day that would change my life. Monday began ordinarily enough. I woke up 10 minutes too late, Angela refused to eat her breakfast, we got stuck in traffic and were late.  
  
Normality. And I may have been cursing when I skidded into the office 15 minutes late, but I was comfortable with it.  
  
That was just about where things began to get a little crazy.  
  
Jade wasn't there. She wasn't sitting in her office laughing while I got scolded for being late. Jade was always at the office, always laughing and grinning while someone else got reprimanded, but never found herself in the same position. The place felt strange without her.  
  
Then I was called into the CO's office.  
  
He didn't say anything about Jade, just that he was taking leave effective immediately and that I was in charge.  
  
I almost flipped with excitement.  
  
Not.  
  
If it had been my ambition to run a military establishment, I would've stayed in Washington.  
  
So I was in charge of an entire office that knew something I didn't: Lt Cmdr Jade Henderson was dead as of Friday night.  
  
And I was in charge of an office in chaos because of it.  
  
That wasn't so normal, but still, I could deal with that. I could handle being in charge of an JAG office, I could handle the murder of a good friend, I could do all that. It was only after 1530 that the day became positively insane.  
  
Within 2 minutes I got 3 phone calls I didn't really want. The first was Angela's day care cente calling to inform me she'd somehow managed to injure herself at lunch. Dr. Field telling me she wanted to see me again. And JAG HQ in Washington called saying they were someone was scheduled to arrive to investigate Jade's death at 1600.  
  
"Ryder," I called as the PO walked past.  
  
"Yes Ma'am?"  
  
"Walk with me. Listen, Angela's done something to herself and I really can't leave right now. "  
  
"You want me to go get her?"  
  
"Would you please?"  
  
"Sure Ma'am."  
  
"Thankyou so much Nikki. Could you take her home and watch her for me?"  
  
"Ma'am, I don't finish here until."  
  
"Yeah, well I'm acting CO, so go, but don't tell anyone."  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Thankyou."  
  
"You owe me one Mackenzie."  
  
"Like hell. I got you out of briefs on Thursday, and covered for you Friday night."  
  
"Yeah, how many Friday nights have I watched your kid while you're still here?"  
  
"Ok, Ok, I owe you."  
  
"See you later."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Colonel Mackenzie?" Lt Sawyers called to me as Ryder disappeared around the corner.  
  
"Yes?" I replied absently.  
  
"Your 1600 is in your office waiting."  
  
"But its only 5 to," I complained quietly.  
  
He heard me.  
  
"You probably don't want to keep a Rear Admiral waiting."  
  
"Shit," I complained even quieter.  
  
"What was that Ma'am?"  
  
"Thankyou Lieutenant," I sighed, walking across the room to the door of the CO's office and pausing with a hand on the doorknob.  
  
"You really don't want to go in there," I reminded myself, opening the door.  
  
"Sir," intoned clearly, listening to my own voice while stand at attention in surprise. I sounded ten thousand times more authoritative than I felt. He returned my salute and I immediately launched into a moving speech about why we could handle an investigation without Washington's help. Very brave of me. (Brave in this sense is a synonym for stupid.)  
  
Halfway through a sentence I actually looked at who was standing in front of me.  
  
It took a few seconds for my mouth to receive the message from my brain reminding me to close it. As I did so, I spun on my heel and closed the door behind me.  
  
"Are you going to say something Colonel?" he asked me, "Cute jacket by the way."  
  
"You haven't changed, Sir," I commented flatly.  
  
"Neither have you."  
  
"Are we still on a first name basis?" I questioned carefully, feeling as though I balancing precariously atop a balancing beam in a gym, afraid and wishing I could fade into my surroundings.  
  
"Sure Sarah."  
  
And that was all it took. I inhaled shakily and leant against the wall sobbing.  
  
"Why are you the one crying? You're the one who left 5 years ago," he asked, raising his voice slightly in indignant confusion.  
  
It only served to make me cry even more while uselessly mouthing, "I know, I'm sorry" in an incomprehensible fashion.  
  
Several minutes later, I managed to regain some of my former composure.  
  
"I'm sorry," I muttered quietly, slightly embarrassed now that I realised he was scrutinising me silently.  
  
"Rear Admiral Rabb," I stated, testing the title, "Nice slides."  
  
"Thanks. And you're Colonel now."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And CO."  
  
"Acting CO, ah, Sir."  
  
"You don't have to call me that Mac," he interrupted softly.  
  
"Why not?" I questioned at equal dynamic, daring him to give me the reason I'd like to hear.  
  
"Because," he responded, staring at me.  
  
"Ok," I agreed, unable to challenge his look.  
  
"So, Lt Cmdr Jade Henderson. You know her?"  
  
"Yeah," I replied, studying my hands, "She was my. best friend here I guess."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Um, how about I give you to our Chief of Staff? Wait, that would be me, I mean, acting position, who was it? Oh, yeah, Lt Cmdr Peterson."  
  
"You can't work with me any more," he stated accusingly.  
  
"Not right now, without being unprofessional," I answered honestly.  
  
"Right."  
  
"You got a place to stay?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"Good, we'll talk later," I said, tossing him my keys, "They're the keys to my apartment, let yourself in, I'll be there around 1900."  
  
"Is this a good idea?"  
  
"Probably not," I bluntly, "But we've got to discuss your investigation sometime."  
  
"Who did you say'd show me around?"  
  
"Lt Cmdr Peterson."  
  
"Right, see you at 1900 then."  
  
"Yes sir," I replied, saluting him as he walked out and collapsing into the chair behind me the second he was gone.  
  
Sighing I picked up the phone and dialled Dr Field's number, "Dr Field?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's me, Sarah Mackenzie. You called?"  
  
"Yes, I want to speak to you. Today, if possible."  
  
"Is it really urgent?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
You know you're in serious trouble when doctors start talking to you in monosyllables.  
  
"Ok, I'll come around after work. Say around 1800, I mean, 6 o'clock?"  
  
"Ok, as long as I get to speak with you in person today."  
  
I hung up sure that the day couldn't get any worse, and at the same time positive I was wrong.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A/N: Hey, it's dark outside. It's really dark outside. 


	4. One Last Battle

* * * * * *  
  
It was closer to 8 o'clock than 6 when I arrived at Dr Field's office. She was sitting at the receptionist's desk waiting.  
  
"Come in," she called, "It's open."  
  
"Sorry I'm so late," I greeted her, pushing the door open and stepping into the dimly lit room.  
  
"That's Ok, I had to hang around and do a few things anyway," she replied, "How's Angela?"  
  
"She's good," I answered as I followed her down the hallway to her consultation room at the end of the hall.  
  
"Sit down," she requested, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk.  
  
I complied uncertainly, "What did you want to see me about?"  
  
She spoke for several minutes.  
  
"I don't want you to panic or anything, it's probably nothing, I just want to run a few tests to make sure," she finished.  
  
I was certain my face had gone pale. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly.  
  
"Like I said, it's probably nothing to worry about," she reassured me.  
  
I opened my eyes, "I know, its just been a long day."  
  
"Busy?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I can relate," she replied as we stood up.  
  
"Thanks Sally," I said resignedly.  
  
"Don't worry about it," she answered, "I'll call you during the week."  
  
"Yeah, Ok."  
  
We exchanged goodbyes and I exited the office.  
  
When I arrived home 15 minutes later, I realised I had one last battle to fight for the day. Sighing, I walked up the stairs to the apartment rather than taking the elevator, and stood, shivering at the front door delving through my bag to find my keys. Finally finding them and opening the door, I walked into the apartment with a sense of apprehension.  
  
"The PO had to leave, she said to apologise," Harm greeted me.  
  
"Ok," I responded quietly, trying not to look at him.  
  
"Mum?" Angela murmured sleepily.  
  
I walked over and picked her up, "Angel, this is Rear Admiral Rabb, he's here from the place where I used to work in Washington."  
  
"Is that where the President lives?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Yeah sweetie," I responded, smiling, "He's going to be staying with us for a while, so you can sleep with me Ok?"  
  
"Mmhmm," she replied.  
  
"Ok, it's time for you to go to sleep," I informed her, carrying her into my bedroom and putting her to bed. I sat with her for a few minutes until she fell asleep, then walked back into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind me.  
  
"You never mentioned the kid," Harm called to me as I walked into the kitchen.  
  
"I'm sorry," I responded, pulling something out of the fridge and eating it, "It didn't occur to me this afternoon."  
  
"She looks just like you."  
  
I studied what I was eating intently, realising I was consuming chocolate slice for dinner, "No," I replied, "She has your eyes."  
  
Even though I couldn't see it, I felt the look on his face change.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"What was I going to say?" I countered quietly, making no true attempt to defend myself.  
  
"Anything would've been better than nothing," he answered, even-toned but angry. I didn't have to look at him to know he was angry.  
  
"I was scared," I almost whispered, "I was afraid of what it would mean for. for us, for me, for you. I found out two weeks after I got here. I was still caught up in the high of moving, but that brought be crashing down to earth," I paused watching his face as he looked away from me.  
  
"Leaving Washington felt good at the time, it was like getting away from my reality and making up my own life here," I continued, "But after that, after that I started to miss." I stopped speaking again, wondering if he was listening.  
  
"Yeah what did you miss?"  
  
"You."  
  
"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" he responded, "First you tell me that leaving Washington was the basically the best thing you ever did, until you found out you'd really screwed up your plans by getting pregnant with the daughter you didn't even tell me about. Then you tell me that you missed me."  
  
He glared at me, "What is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Don't look at me like that," I requested, raising my voice to match his.  
  
"Why not? What do you think all of that meant for me, you leaving? I wouldn't have even known if I hadn't happened to hang around late talking to Bud. You told everyone in that office but me Mac, every single person knew, except me, your so-called best friend. And now you tell me that we have a daughter? After five years? Sarah Mackenzie, you really know how to welcome an old friend, throw a few more daggers why don't you?"  
  
I looked down, "Please don't be angry at me."  
  
"Why on earth shouldn't I be angry with you? "  
  
"Because I'm not worth getting angry over. I deserve all the contempt you could possibly regard me with. Honestly, you should hate me. You have the right to hate me. But hating me won't change the past. I'm not asking you to forgive me," I stared at him, "But please, don't condemn me to hell. I've got my punishment Harm. Those eyes of hers, everyday they remind me how I screwed us up. You think it hurt you? I actually loved you, hell I still love you."  
  
"How do you do that?" he asked me disbelievingly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Stand there and shamelessly tell me you still love me when you haven't spoken a word to me in five years?"  
  
"I've never had a problem admitting the truth."  
  
He just glared at me. I stared back with tears in my eyes.  
  
"Does she know?"  
  
"Who Angela?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You're not really in the same situation. You didn't have to have a daughter, but she had to have a father. So she knows about you, I've told her about you. But are you asking if she knows you're her father?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Not yet. Do you, do you want me to tell her?" I asked, choking on the words.  
  
"Just let me process all of this first."  
  
"Ok," I responded softly, "Harm?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you hate me?" I sniffed, closing my eyes to stop myself from crying.  
  
"No. I hate the way you left. I hate the way you didn't speak to me. I hate the way I don't even know my daughter's name. I hate what you did. But I don't hate you."  
  
"What do you, what do you think, I mean, feel about me?"  
  
"You want the truth?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Touché."  
  
He turned and walked away leaving me crying in the kitchen.  
  
* * * * * * 


	5. Lies

After the Monday episode of the unfolding drama known as my relationship with Harm, we refrained from such conversations, pretending the past had never happened, pretending we'd never had the discussion in the kitchen that night. it wasn't like it was hard to pretend. Denial came naturally when it involved Harm. We'd been doing it for almost a decade and as they say, practise makes perfect. We were close to taking perfection of denial to new heights and making it an art form.  
  
I could write a novel on denial. With his help, we'd be rich.  
  
He treated me like a stranger, and I treated him like the ghost of my past that he was.  
  
On Tuesday he'd asked for my permission to conduct his investigation on my base without informing me of the progress. (He didn't ask in those words, but the essence of the statement was there.) Being in a good position to disagree, I protested. We'd had a strictly professional argument, but his eyes had said all the personal stuff. For me, it had ended in tears, after he left disappointed that he hadn't achieved his purpose in the meeting.  
  
On Wednesday he had avoided me, being purposefully twenty minutes late to his meeting with me in the late afternoon, which only left ten minutes until I was scheduled to endure the battering of a discussion with Washington about the recent court-martial of a civilian contractor. I was not jumping for joy at the prospect of a spat with my former Commanding Officer and Harm arriving late had flustered my a little. His icy demeanour managed to cool me off pretty quickly, as well as freezing the sun. Any further encounters like that and the world would be enjoying a Neo Ice Age. Almost as soon as he left, the phone had rang.  
  
"Hello, Mackenzie," I had answered.  
  
"Colonel Mackenzie, this is Admiral Chegwidden."  
  
"Yes Sir, I recognised your voice Sir."  
  
"How have you been coping with Rabb's visit Mac?" he had asked.  
  
I'd been tempted to hang up the phone. It was all I could do to mutter something vaguely resembling 'fine' without dropping the receiver and start crying again.  
  
On Thursday, I hadn't seen Harm at all. His skills in evasion were commendable. Many people can't successfully elude those they are living and working with almost all day, but Harm was The Master of Avoidance. It was early evening when I finally made it home and found him waiting with Angela on the floor in front of the TV, playing cards.  
  
"Hey," I called to the pair, who appeared to be having a great deal of fun.  
  
"Hi mummy," Angela answered, jumping up to hug me.  
  
"Hi yourself sweetie," I grinned, kneeling so I was her height and dropping my bag next to me.  
  
"How was your day?" I inquired.  
  
She thought for a moment, "Well day care was boring, but it was fun when I got home."  
  
I hugged her and looked over her shoulder at Harm.  
  
"That's good Angela," I responded, still staring at Harm.  
  
"Hey Mac," he said, casual, as though we were merely acquaintances and the girl standing between us wasn't our daughter. I cringed at the thought that he'd seen me naked.  
  
"Yeah hi," I mumbled, picking up my bag and standing up, walking into the kitchen and dumping everything on the bench.  
  
"Are you going to tell her?"  
  
I looked up suddenly, "What do you mean am I going to tell her?"  
  
"Are you going to tell her?"  
  
"Tell her what?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about."  
  
"You want me to tell her?"  
  
"That's what I said."  
  
"I know," I snapped. His attitude was beginning to annoy me. I mean, I hadn't expected things to be easy with us, but he was making everything so difficult. I know he didn't care about me, but he didn't have to be in my face about it all the time.  
  
"Do you want me to tell her now?" I asked him tersely.  
  
"Mac."  
  
"Don't Mac me, answer my question," I sighed.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Fine, Ok, sit down," I commanded.  
  
He didn't comply.  
  
"Do it damnit. I treat discussions like this very seriously with her," I informed him, "And if you're going to be an ass about it, forget it."  
  
"So before I do anything I'm being an ass about it? I'd hate to think what'll happen when I open my mouth."  
  
"You just did, and it reflected the truth. Light travels faster than sound. You appeared bright before you spoke."  
  
"As did you Colonel."  
  
"I thought we were on a first name basis."  
  
"We are."  
  
"Good."  
  
"But you still can't order me around."  
  
"Watch me," I invited, "My house, my rules. Now SIT!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why, so you can be ready to run as soon as any kind of commitment is mentioned?" I raised my voice a little. He was deliberately being infuriating, because he knew exactly how to stir me up. And it was working.  
  
"YOU are the one who ran," he protested.  
  
"No, I ESCAPED, there is a difference."  
  
"Escaped from what?"  
  
"YOU!" I shouted at him, "You and your incessant phobias of having a relationship with me."  
  
"I believe I did have a relationship with you," he stated acidly, "It ended after YOU LEFT, NOT ME!"  
  
I just glared at him, not believing the accusation worth a reply.  
  
"So I think it was you who was afraid of commitment Mac, not me."  
  
He yelled at me, so I yelled back, "You were never going to work things out with me Harm. You said it yourself that you didn't love me, so was me leaving just a good excuse to sleep with me?"  
  
He tensed. That had hit hard.  
  
"I don't believe you. I never said I never loved you, I just said I didn't now. Because after FIVE years of waiting around, hoping the woman you love will come back, you can't really feel much. The pain threshold was passed about four years and eleven months ago. I assure you Sarah Mackenzie; I DID love you, which is why it hurt so much when you ran off. And that's why it's hard to feel anything much for you now but numbness."  
  
And he hit back harder.  
  
"So if you weren't afraid of commitment, why didn't you tell me that five years ago?"  
  
We were both shouting at each other, fighting for no other reason than because we wanted to fight. I wanted to tell him all of this, I wanted to make it clear just how much he'd let me down. I heard Angela cry in protest, distracted from her TV dates by the argument.  
  
"Because I was different then. People change Mac, people grow. And I couldn't tell you then. For whatever reason the words were hard to say, so I tried to prove it to you. Actions speak louder than words, but not to you. No Mac, you were different, you were special," he retorted sarcastically, still yelling, "YOU WERE ONE OF A KIND MACKENZIE. Any other woman would've KNOWN, but no, YOU HAD TO HEAR IT. YOU AND YOUR STUPID INSECURITIES, YOUR ABHORRENCE TO ANY SINCERE AFFECTION. YOU LEFT BECAUSE OF THREE WORDS? THREE WORDS? I ENDURED FIVE YEARS OF HELL FOR THREE FUCKING WORDS?"  
  
Tears formed in my eyes. I cursed quietly, he wasn't allowed to make me cry, that was unfair. He shouldn't be able to make me cry, he shouldn't be able to hurt me. But he did.  
  
"ALL MY LIFE, ALL THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED IS I GET HURT," I screamed, ranting defensively, with no real purpose other than to kick back while I could, "AND YOU HURT ME THE MOST, YOU ALWAYS COULD AND YOU ALWAYS DID. I BROKE YOUR HEART? HOW MANY TIMES DO YOU THINK YOU BROKE MINE? HOW MANY TIMES DO YOU THINK YOU MADE ME CRY? SO USING YOUR LOGIC IT'S NOT THAT HARD TO SEE WHY I LEFT. AFTER FIVE YEARS OF HURTING, IT'S HARD TO CARE! AND NO, IT WASN'T JUST THREE LITTLE WORDS. IT WAS THE THREE WORDS YOU COULD NEVER SAY. WHY COULD YOU NEVER SAY THEM? DID YOU NOT MEAN THEM?"  
  
I paused and inhaled sharply before continuing, "HYPOCRISY AND DENIAL, IS THAT HOW YOU DEAL WITH EVERYTHING? I LEFT, YOU THINK YOU OF ALL PEOPLE WOULD UNDERSTAND WHY I LEFT. BUT NO, LIKE EVERY OTHER MAN ON THE PLANET, YOU HAD TO BE A JERK ABOUT IT. IF YOU CARED WHY DID YOU PRETEND I DIDN'T EXIST FOR FIVE YEARS? IF YOU LOVED ME, WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL? YOU NEVER LOVED ME, SO DON'T LIE TO ME."  
  
He slapped me mid-sentence.  
  
"SHUT UP MAC."  
  
I blinked at him unintelligently, my hand rubbing the side of my face in disbelief, the tears in my eyes spilling down my cheeks.  
  
"Firstly," he said, quiet anger expressed perfectly by his tone, "I wouldn't lie to you. And secondly, I didn't call because I didn't have ANY IDEA WHERE YOU WERE BECAUSE YOU NEVER EVEN SAID GOODBYE, LET ALONE TELL ME WHERE YOU WERE GOING."  
  
I breathed in shakily, my hands trembling.  
  
He stood silently for a minute.  
  
"Oh God Mac, I'm sorry," he began, "I don't know why. I never should have."  
  
"Angela?" I called.  
  
"Mummy?" she answered fearfully, standing behind me.  
  
"Come here sweetie," I whispered quietly, ignoring Harm and taking her hand.  
  
"I'm so sorry, I." he touched my shoulder gently.  
  
"Don't," I ordered, shaking a little and pushing his hand away.  
  
"Mac."  
  
"Leave me alone," I replied quietly, biting my lip hard, "Just get out, or leave me alone."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A/N: You know you're pathetic when you're word processor has names of characters (such as 'Mac') added to its dictionary, and will actually suggest them when you misspell other words. 


	6. Evil Omens and Christmas Parties

A/N: Well everyone seems to think that Harm would never hit Mac or any woman, even in anger. I'm going for the: he was mad and she was hysterical angle. I don't think he'd hit her either, but remembering it's from her POV, there's probably some bias in the recount. The author notes that he probably didn't slap her hard, or for any other reason than she was basically falling back on the primitive defensive tactic of yelling very loud at your enemy while choking on sobs and gasping for air. Even men who never and would never hit a woman do in that kind of situation in my personal experience. And besides, it sounded like a reasonably primitive argument over nothing at all to me. 

*              *              *              *              *              *

Friday: the war continued with no hope of a ceasefire, peril imminent and more bombs falling than usual.

There were three evil omens waiting for me when I arrived at the office. 

The first was him, who had uncharacteristically turned up early. To the good fortune of my sanity, he'd had the decency to leave last night until I'd disappeared into the bedroom with little intention of ever facing him again. I wasn't sure what time he'd come back, but he'd left again before I was up.

He'd scared me.

_'People change Mac.'_

He had changed. 

  
Never, never in my life had I felt threatened by Harm. He would never hit any woman; much less one he claimed was his best friend and who he supposedly respected, treated like a lady. Herein I found our problem. I was most definitely not a lady. A bitch, a slut, a tease maybe, but certainly not a lady. I understood why he'd slapped me. Because I'd let him see everything I felt inside, I'd told him the contradictory truths that were me. He'd seen inside me and I'd been subjected to his reaction.

That's what always happened: I hurt people, I disappointed people, I am The BIG Nothing: a living paradox, a reminder of everything people hate and love about humanity. Everyone thinks I'm different to the way I really am. That I'm arrogant, over-confident and self-assured. I'm not like that at all. It is, in part, a façade. The tough-girl Marine-officer act I've been pulling off for years leads people to numerous conclusions about who I really am, none of which are accurate. I am not arrogant really, I don't believe I can do anything, and while I am proud, I'm very rarely too proud for my own good unless I feel threatened. I'm not confident with myself at all. I spend ages and ages wondering about how I look, how I appear to other people. I stress over my weight (after women have children they put on weight, it's some sought of biological reaction, I'm sure), I stress over what I wear, how I wear it, what I say, what I do- I always worry about how people are judging me. I hate being judged and I say I don't care what other people think, but that's a lot of tough talk that isn't always true. And self-assured? I am certainly not self-assured. You have never met someone as insecure as I am. I tell myself I can't do things. I am my own worst enemy. I remind myself of all the awful things I've done to people, I never forget the mistakes I've made and I let the past haunt me. I expect nothing at risk of being disappointed. Defensive before they even begin the attack... that's me. And a lot of the time my defensive strategy is to appear to be on the offensive.

I had not meant to hurt him. I had not meant to say all the awful things I'd said to him. He was right. I knew he was right. I hated it when he was right. I'd always hated it when he was right. When he was right I was invariably wrong. I hated being wrong and I hated having to sacrifice my pride just to admit it. 

The second evil omen was an open invitation; lay out in the middle of my desk with a note from Nikki attached. 

'Hope you can go, cuz I am. Just so you know because I won't be able to watch Angela. Sorry! Anyway, will hopefully see you there. And what is that extra $200 in my account for?!?! I know it's from you- WHY!?! (If you say watching Angie you know I am gonna kill you!)'

The 'love always Nikki' was crossed out and replaced with 'PO Ryder'. I grinned at her note then frowned at the invitation. It was to some political party. The local senator's Christmas get together- I sighed. I hated such events. The senator's son was Navy. Lieutenant Neilson was a JAG who'd been based with us for over a year. He did a decent job but was to rapt in his father's pressure to really excel as an officer. I didn't like the senator much- he interfered with Lieutenant Neilson's work and was always trying to force his own political aspirations on his son. My entire staff was always invited to the Christmas party. Last year's had been bad enough, and this year? Well this year would surely be worse, especially given the presence of a certain lawyer and the negative events of last night. I decided not to go, the remembered I was acting CO and even when I wasn't, Chief of Staff and really couldn't make that decision. I hated the social obligation of this job. Sighing, I reluctantly ticked 'yes' on the RSVP and pushed the invitation away in dread.

The third and final omen was a letter and as they say: they save the best for last. This one was a real kick in the face, a bullet in the back. I opened the letter apprehensively, reading the sender's address: Dr Field's office.

I skimmed over the letter absently; sure it could only be bad news. After several minutes, I decided I needed to actually comprehend what it was telling me. I read the first paragraph five times before the shapes actually formed themselves into letters that formed themselves into words making up a coherent sentence. The Marine in me said 'Semper Fi- it can't be worse than combat'. The cynic in me didn't like the chances of survival she gave. The employee in me didn't like the financial figures she estimated. The woman in me was too tired to be able to understand the full implications of the letter. It took several moments for these to become apparent. That was when I was afraid. 

The facts were pretty clear: I was sick, possibly life threatening, but probably not, it was an inhibiting situation to say the least and reasonably scary.

I briefly and jokingly considered suicide. It was alarming to find that killing myself actually seemed to have more pros than cons. Sighing I realised life could only get worse.

*              *              *              *              *              *

A/N: No, I haven't decided what she's got yet--- any suggestions for a life-threatening disease we could give Mac?

  
*              *              *              *              *              *

I knew we had to talk. Approaching his office in the hours between lunch and late afternoon that are always quiet hours in the office, I knew I had to talk to him. I didn't want to. I wanted to pretend nothing had happened, to run away, to ignore it, but I knew I had to enter the office and talk to him. Opening the door nervously, I decided to begin the conversation quickly and hoped it would end much the same.

"Are you going tomorrow night?"

A quick, toneless question preceded by no greeting or announcement of my presence.

Harm looked up and stared at me, "Going where?"

'Good, he's finally learned to follow my lead and not say much when I don't,' I thought.

"To the senator's Christmas party, he'll expect you."

"Oh, yeah," he responded, realising what I was talking about, "I don't know. Don't really want to go but I guess I have to. Sit down."

"No, I was just going past and I thought I'd ask," I replied, declining the attempt to prolong my stay.

"Yes I'm going. Are you?"

"I have to go."

"Mac, sit down."

"No."

"Mac."

"Why?"

"Because."

I rolled my eyes, backing away towards the door, "Informative answer Sir."

"Sit down!"

"Why?"

"Because we need to talk."

"About what?"

"Things."

"What things?"

"Tomorrow night for one."

"We talked. We're both going, what else do we need to say to each other?"

"Are you going with someone?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but no, I'm not."

I'd half-heartedly attempted to date other people when I moved, but nothing or no one really interested me, and when you've got a baby, you don't really have time for dinner dates anyway. Several guys had taken me out, only two more than once, and only one of them more than twice. He'd given up after realising we didn't have the same ideas about a relationship. And a date for a Christmas party? Not that I couldn't find one, more that I couldn't be bothered finding one. But, as I had stated, not that it was any of his business.

"Oh."

"Is that all you wanted to ask?"

"No."

"Then---"

"Mac, we're both going to be at the same place and the same time for an entire evening. Can we agree not to argue for that long? Surely it wouldn't kill you to have to keep all your biting comments to yourself."

"Excuse me? My comments?"

"It's an armistice not a surrender."

"Yes, of course we can agree to cease disagreeing for the evening. I don't see why that would be a problem after avoiding each other like the plague for over twelve hours."

"Mac, you know what I mean."

"I don't think I do," I replied.

He sighed, looking tired more than anything else, "You know, I wish I still loved you. Then you could talk to me about nothing and the sound of your voice would actually make me feel like there was something worth living for."

I snorted, "You're not serious?"

"No, I am. I used to like listening to you talk."

I laughed, "Real funny."

He looked a little hurt, "Mac, I am serious and I am sick of this. Why do you always- always- do this?"

"Do what?"

"Try to tell me I'm not 'serious' about anything. When I tell you things, I mean them. If you'd ever listened to me and stopped trying to twist my words all the time, maybe we wouldn't be where we are now."

"Which is where?"

"At a point where we can't even be in the same room for more than ten minutes without arguing about something."

"We haven't argued yet today," I objected, raising my voice a little. 

"Well we're about to, aren't we?"

"Only because you keep pushing."

"Oh really?"

"You have an answer for everything don't you?"

"And you don't?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You've got a list of comebacks and cheap remarks to match the best of them Mac. Every time I say anything, you make some sarcastic comment, another petty shot. You've always got to have the last word don't you?"

"No."

"And you always have to argue."

"I am not arguing," I argued before realising how annoying it was that by denying that statement, I actually proved his point.

"You are."

"Well you always fight back."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to finish your damned investigation and go back to Washington and let me live my life without the constant rain cloud of your presence!" I shouted, finally overcome by the annoyance he always inspired.

His volume lowered considerably, "That was unduly harsh."

"I know," I answered, "I didn't mean it. I just- I just hate the way- the way things are."

"Like I said, we can't agree on anything."

"Because you always want to fight with me."

"And you always want to fight with me."

"I don't Harm, I really don't want to fight with you. I can't be bothered. It's too time consuming, too painful and no one ever really wins. We've been fighting for long enough to know that we're evenly matched. I just- I just can't let you beat me though. I can't, I can't let you win. I can't ignore you. I can't *not* fight you."

"Why?"

"Because. Because you'll walk all over me and think I'm weak. I'm not."

"I know that."

"Do you really? Then why did you-" I stopped suddenly, biting down hard on my lower lip.

"Why did I what?"

"Last night, I mean, don't- it doesn't matter."

"Mac, I'm sorry for what happened last night. Here is me admitting I was wrong Ok? You see, despite what you think, I do not think I am incapable of making mistakes. I screwed up and probably nothing I ever do or say will allow you to forgive me, that's just the way you are, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry and I wish it never happened."

I was silent; unsure of how to respond I mentally withdrew from the conversation and physically recoiled, stepping away from him instinctively.

"And it wasn't because I think you're weak. It was because you're not. You're a very strong adversary and there was no other way for me to win- which is stupid really because I think I lost, more than just another pathetic argument too."

I swallowed, "It's not because I don't want to forgive you, you know that don't you?"

"What?"

"It's not because I don't want to forgive you, it's because I can't-" I choked back a sob, pressing my eyes together hard and cursing the damn tears, "It's because I can't just pretend nothing happened because- because I know that never works. I'm not afraid of you. It's not- it's not about you. It's about other people and other times and other relationships and I cannot forgive you."

"Because of the past?"

"Yes."

"Then you know why I can't forgive you."

"Because of what happened?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. What do you want me to say? What can I possibly do to make all of this right?"

"Nothing. Nothing will ever make 'this' right," he informed me bitterly, "But we still have to go tomorrow night."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you're not going with anyone?"

Was he going to ask me to go with him? Why was he so interested anyway?

"No," I repeated my previous answer suspiciously.

"Ok, then we're all right?"

"I thought we'd never be 'right'?"

"You know what I mean."

"I do, do I?"

"Well you should."

"Ok, I know what you mean."

"Then I'll see you tonight?"

"Maybe," I sighed, "Work, work, work and more work."

"Ok."

"I'm going to leave now," I announced, preparing to engage in a tactical retreat from the hostilities.

"See you."

My hand closed on the doorknob.

"Yeah," I answered as I opened the door.

"And Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"You should've just sat down."

I let it slam closed behind me.

*              *              *              *              *              *

On Saturday night, Harm and I decided it would be stupid to drive ourselves when we were going to the same party from the same place. After I spent half an hour grilling the babysitter (a teenager from next door), he near-literally dragged me out the door, informing me that I was not an Inquisitor and that she was a perfectly capable young woman.

"She's your daughter you know," I snapped, irritably pushing a lose strand of hair out of my face.

"Yeah, and she'll be all right Mac, just relax."

"I'm fine," I retorted, tugging at the midnight blue skirt of my dress and smoothing the bodice, eying my reflection in the glass of the car window critically.

"You look fine, now get in."

"So encouraging," I mumbled to myself, complying with a glare in his general direction and cursing the heels that had already started to initiate blisters on my little toe. Stupid torture devices- I don't know why I wore them. I spent the rest of the journey alternating between tugging at the strap of my shoes and playing with my hair.

I was silent, he was silent and I was appreciative of the fact that I didn't have to make small talk for ten minutes. 

When we arrived, I sat in the car, still battling with my hair and now examining my make-up while he complained about the outside temperature.

"Mac, it's winter. It's cold, hurry up."

"I just have to---"

"You look great Mac," he paused thoughtfully, reaching out to touch my arm, "Really, I've never seen you look so beautiful."

I turned to face him, genuinely surprised at the sincerity of the compliment. He sounded like he actually meant it. He looked back at me like he actually meant it.

I couldn't breathe. 

There was a long pause that he tactfully interrupted by lightening the mood, "For a Marine, you were blue really well."

I grinned, exhaling in relief and more in grateful for the change in atmosphere than the joke, "We Marines are very multi-talented. We can do many things well."

"That's true," he responded and the silence descended once more. I hated that silence. I hated him complimenting me. I didn't know how I was meant to react and I hated that.

I stepped out of the car and shivered, "You're right Sailor, it is cold."

"Due to the season as I previously explained," he assured me, "Come on, the idea is to make it to the party, not frozen in the parking lot."

I took the arm he offered me shyly, "We can be all right you know," I murmured nervously, "If you want to be."

"We're fine."

"I know."

I shivered. I'm not sure if it was the temperature or the look he gave me, but either way, this situation was getting dangerous. I'm not sure which was worse- hypothermia or Harmon Rabb. Either way, we quickly departed the frosty outdoors and entered the building.

Once inside, the intensity of the moments before lessened, much to my relief. He released his hold on my arm once inside and within moments, we were separated by the small crowd assembled in the room.

After greeting the appropriate people, I wandered over to the food absently, beginning to feel hungry. Picking at something that looked vaguely edible, I observed the comings and goings uninterestedly.  It took less than ten minutes for Nikki meet me at the table, her eyes twinkling teasingly.

"I saw you and Romeo arrived together," she stated impishly. (It was her nickname for Harm. I'd been obliged to explain to her who he was after he'd turned up at my apartment the day he arrived and she was still there watching Angela. Ever since, he'd been Romeo and she'd been Cupid.)

"No, we arrived at the same time," I corrected, "Not together."

"So you're not here *with* him, you're just *here* with him?"

"There was a merely implied invitation to come together, but we verbally agreed to go to the same place at the same time and nothing more."

"Will you be leaving together?"

"At the same time," I sighed, "And going to the same location, and that's all."

"You sound disappointed."

"Maybe a little," I confessed, "But it's for the best. What about you? I see no male companion accompanying you this evening."

She shrugged, "I arrived with no one and don't intend to leave that way. See over there," she gestured to an Army Sergeant.

I nodded.

"My mission objective this evening," she informed me.

"Is it someone different every evening?" I mock-scolded.

"No *mother*. For your information, I've been eyeing this one for a while… I call it performing recon ops before initiating ground warfare."

I grinned at her, "What's your line Petty Officer? My bedroom is a battlefield?"

"I," she began flirtatiously, grandly spreading her arms, "Do not need 'lines' Ma'am. I let my tactics do the talking."

I laughed at her, "So what's the plan?"

"Entice him with my…assets."

"What as…"

"Don't say it," she warned, realising what she'd left herself open for.

"I wish you better luck than myself," I remarked wryly, observing the liquid in my glass intently.

"What's your line?"

"Don't need lines," I answered quickly, "I let my assets do the talking."

"With all due respect and no offence, but your assets happen to include a 4 year old daughter and a further 14 years of responsibility. Probably not the best pick up line."

"I didn't come here to pick up anything, much less another military man," I responded.

She gesticulated with her shoulders, "Oh well. Have fun."

"What? Enduring the bitter taunting of the young who are enjoying their no-strings-attached affairs? I think not."

"It's not like that is it?" she asked, "You don't really think of me as young and stupid do you?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Well on account that you insist you aren't here with him I think you do need a line," she stated.

"What would you suggest?"

"I love you, I need you, I want you and want you some more?" she proposed.

"Already tried that," I notified her, "Doesn't care."

"What is it with you two?" she inquired curiously, "You're always fighting. I sense sexual tension."

"I assure you, there is no such strain between us."

"What, so you're sleeping together?"

"No."

"Is that the problem?"

Déjà vu! 

"No, the problem is I left Washington five years ago because the feelings that lead to such acts between people were not mutual."

"So why don't you just apologise and move on?"

"Because neither of us is willing to let go."

"Why not?" she pressed, "Why not leave what's past pass and get over it?"

I was silent.

"Do you still love him?"

  
Remembering the events of the Thursday evening and again tonight, I couldn't think of a lawyer's answer.

_'Do you still love him?'_

Nikki's words echoed in my head. Did I still love him, even after everything that had happened? 

I sighed.

"It's complicated," I explained, "There's too many times where we've hurt each other, too many lost chances."

"Chances not taken aren't always lost Ma'am," she commented vaguely. 

"Yeah, but some wounds don't heal," I responded quietly, "Relationships are a bloody war Nikki. Ours was KIA a while back."

She shook her head, "No, MIA maybe, not KIA. You're both prisoners of war and neither of you are dead… yet."

"Like I said, it's complicated. For one, he's not interested any more."

"I disagree," she observed idly, "Whether he says it or not, he still loves you. Any one who comes within radar range of you two could see that."

"People used to think that about us five years ago and it was never true."

"So it's about the sex."

"What?"

"Just because two people aren't sleeping together doesn't mean they're not in love. I was talking about love, not a cataclysmic human mating ritual. By saying it wasn't true five years ago you were referring to the fact that everyone thought you were sleeping together when you weren't. Had they thought you were in love with him they would've been right, or so you've led me to believe Ma'am."

I stared at her for a moment, "It is not about the sex. What sex by the way?"

She rolled her eyes at me and laughed incredulously, "I may be young, but I am not that young. You have a daughter. Women don't get pregnant through goodbye kisses Ma'am. I've known that since I was about five."

I sighed, "Who said he was Angela's father anyway?"

"You did," she shrugged, "Maybe not in those words, but it was there."

She paused before continuing, "So there was sex."

"Yes," I agreed, "Once. One night and that's it."

"He broke it off after one night? What kind of jerk…"

I interrupted, "No, he's quite a gentleman. I'm just a slut that left after a stupid one-night stand. And you really didn't need to know that."

She eyed me disbelievingly, "Are we talking about the same person here? He was the man that you'd been in love with for… well forever. And you left after… because of… because of the sex?"

"No," I exhaled slowly, "It wasn't because of the sex. If anything the sex almost convinced me not to leave, much less pushed me out the door. I was leaving anyway Nikki, I just happened to get on the plane the day after the night."

"How on earth did that happen?"

"He was trying to persuade me to stay," I answered dryly; "Blame it on eight years of unfulfilled and unacted upon desire."

"But it wasn't potato chips Ma'am?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well you didn't go back for more?"

"It was a little better than grease ridden potatoes, I'll have you know," I informed her with a sly smile.

"I'll take your word for it."

"You'd better," I warned.

"Ooh, the hands-off-my-man reaction," she teased, "So you are still interested?"

"Firstly, he never was and is not 'my man'. Secondly, the interest is not mutual. He has made that fact painfully obvious. And finally, he's almost old enough to be your father Petty Officer."

"And fourthly, you'd kill me before the potato chip complex had time to come into effect," she grinned mischievously.

  
She was enjoying this far too much.

"You'd better believe it," I vowed flatly.

She rolled her eyes, "Marines! The thought never crossed my mind I swear."

I could tell she was being earnest but I couldn't resist a comeback.

"The way you're mind works, I find that hard to believe Petty Officer. You'd have anything on legs."

She laughed wickedly, "And some things that aren't."

"That was far too much information Nikki."

"Happy to share with you Ma'am," she grinned, "So, back to the original topic, from all this I conclude that this coupling was… rewarding. A mutually enjoyed experience shall we say?" 

"Speaking only for myself, it was not enjoyed- savoured is a better word."

"Hmm, you give a generous appraisal. So it's definitely not the sex- or is it? Could it be that due to the potato chip complex or more specifically, the denial of the potato chip complex caused by your immediate departure, the sex has effectively destroyed your relationship, despite being incredibly satisfying?"

"No," I mused, "It was more that in the first place the sex was for all the wrong reasons at exactly the wrong time."

"Then it was the sex?"

"What is it with you and sex?" I inquired in exasperation.

"I am still in the motion caused by the momentum of my hormone driven teenage years," she notified me shortly, "And I'm trying to make a point here."

"And what would that be?"

"That love solves all the problems caused by sex."

"You are a young and idealistic woman."

"Young, not naïve. You are a middle-aged and cynical woman," she retorted.

"For someone who hates chick flicks you are a secret romantic."

"No, I just hate to see two incredibly cool people kept apart by their own stupidity," she came back with, "Now if you'll excuse me, I see something on legs that is begging me to enter into a partnership that will test the potato chip complex," she winked, placing her glass on the table next to us and gliding across the room to the young Army Sergeant.

I sighed.

Was it stupidity?

*              *              *              *              *              *


	7. The Devastating Consequences Of Not Enou...

*              *              *              *              *              *

I was bored. No, I was beyond bored; I was starting to believe that paperwork would be more interesting. Thoughts in that class constitute insanity, not boredom. I'd successfully avoided him all night. Too many memories of similar parties placed themselves squarely between us, and for that I was both grateful and yet mortally wounded. I was sick of being haunted by the ghosts of my past, the lost chances, the innuendos of so many nights that had never come to anything. I'd formulated an answer to Nikki's question. My feelings had been lying to me for days, and no, I was not still 'in love' him. I 'loved' him: past tense. I loved who he used to be, I loved what we used to have.  In short, I loved the past but I was certainly not still 'in love' with him. Had I ever been 'in love' with him? Yes I had loved him, but was I 'in love' with him as I claimed to be or was it all just my imagination?

  
I conceded that I was attracted to him, emotionally and physically, and we were best friends. It's a friendship that will never be the same, but is still cherished because it taught me so much. He asked me to get down of the bridge when I wanted to jump so many times. That friendship taught me that someone would've cared if I'd jumped. That was something I needed to know. But was I ever 'in love' with him? No, I was attracted to him and loved him but I never gave myself the opportunity to be 'in love' with him. If I'd been more candid with myself at the time then maybe, but hindsight 20/20 and reminiscence don't add up to 'in love'.

I sighed.

Then again, I had admitted to myself I was in love with him a very long time ago now. Sydney. How long was it? Seven years? Yes, I had convinced myself I was in love with him then, and I was. That night was another night in my many collections of nights that had been a complete disaster for us. The cruise of the Titanic would've been easier than that stupid dally in Sydney Harbour. I had grossly miscalculated the mutual affection between us obviously, because the reaction I was afforded was definitely not the love you, need you, want you I had expected. Ok, hoped for- because realistically I had known that was expecting too much. Still, I'd been crushed, absolutely torn apart over it. Mic had been a great distraction from all that. And yes, there was this primitive girlie part of me that had hoped he would be jealous, and realise that he would lose me if he didn't fight for me. As I said, it was a primitive part, and I guess as women we do have a damsel-in-distress in all of us. (But I'll deny it in court.) I'll blame it on the fact that I was told stories of princes rescuing princesses from the time I was a child. So I had agreed to marry a man I was not in love with whilst nursing a seriously broken heart and dealing with a damaged friendship because of the afore mentioned evils. So maybe I was 'in love' with him once, and I had never stopped loving him after Sydney, but I'd realised that he was never going to be 'in love' with me.

I'd done all this thinking to reach such a depressing and confusing conclusion. My feelings consistently lied to me. Who truly knew how I felt at any given time? I caught sight of him from across the room. Holding my breath for a moment, I reserved the right to change my mind about my former decision.

"Just because you're not and probably never were in love, doesn't mean you can't fall in love with him," I informed myself quietly.

Now that was an interesting angle. Why would I fall in love with him after everything that had happened? Was I still holding onto an age-old idea that I'd been trying to let go of for five years? Or was I trying to make something wrong right?  The regrets I'd been trying so hard to keep at bay made themselves known very loudly.

There was another possibility that I tried not to consider to carefully: was I actually, just honesty falling in love with him? Did it have nothing to do with our history, and more to do with getting to know each other again? Hell, he'd said it himself: people change. Had we changed that much? Really, were we different people than we used to me? And the most devastating question of all: were we that different that we could finally figure out how to be together and be in love?

I didn't want to know the answer to that question. Like all the other important questions of our relationship, I was scared witless of the answer.

I sighed again.

  
Confusion. Emotions, why bother? Every time I figured out I felt how I felt changed. The sense in spending an entire lifetime trying to trace a constantly changing element of existence was not apparent to me. 

I stopped thinking and started watching him from across the room again, vaguely recognising the music playing from somewhere.

_I know you think that I shouldn't still love you_

_Or tell you that_

_But if I didn't say it _

_Well I'd still have felt it_

_Where's the sense in that?_

_I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder_

_Or return to where we were_

I hated it when lyrics from songs reminded me I was feeling something I didn't want to be feeling.  Catching me staring, he began to walk over to me.

_But I will go down with this ship_

_And I won't put my arms up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door_

_I'm in love_

_And always will be_

"Hey," he said to me apprehensively.

"Hey," I echoed quietly.

"Are you Ok?"

"Yeah."

Silence apart from the annoyingly beautiful song with poignant lyrics.

_I know I left too much mess and destruction_

_To come back again_

_And I caused nothing but trouble  
I understand if you can't talk to me again_

_And if you live by rules that it's over_

_Then I'm sure that that makes sense_

"Mac, I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too."

More silence.

_I will go down with this ship_

_And I won't put my arms up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door_

_I'm in love_

_And always will be_

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I know that doesn't mean you've forgiven me, but will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Forgive me."

"I could ask you the same question."

_And when we meet_

_Which I'm sure we will_

_All of this pain_

_Will be there still_

_I'll let it pass_

_And hold my tongue_

_And you will think_

_That I've moved on_

"Mac, I, you- look it was five years ago."

"That doesn't mean you've forgiven me."

"No," he agreed, "But what's past is past, and we can't change that, no matter how much we regret it."

"Who said I regretted anything?"

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Regret leaving?"

_I will go down with this ship_

_And I won't put my arms up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door_

_I'm in love_

_And always will be_

"Yes," I answered honestly, "But I often wonder what would've happened if I'd stayed. Would we be at this point now anyway?"

"Where is this point?"

"The end."

"Really?"

"I think so."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Where is there to go from here?"

"I don't know," he replied, "I guess it's double or nothing."

"Two times zero is still zero."

"You think we haven't got something?"

"We had something five years ago."

"And now?"

"We let it get away."

"I've never known a Marine to admit defeat," he said.

  
End our bitter exchange of words.

He walked away.

_I will go down with this ship_

_And I won't put my arms up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door_

_I'm in love_

_And always will be_

He was right. Marines never surrender. Semper Fi meant always faithful. I intended to be always faithful. If that entailed waiting for the rest of my life, then so be it. I did and would always love him. Forever.

*              *              *              *              *              *


End file.
